


Celiaverse Contest Prizes

by FromTheBoundlessSea



Series: The Celiaverse [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Contests, F/M, I’ll add warnings and additional things before each chapter, One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheBoundlessSea/pseuds/FromTheBoundlessSea
Summary: Prizes for the Celiaverse Contest.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Tywin Lannister/Original Female Character(s), Viserys Targaryen/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Celiaverse [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547251
Comments: 22
Kudos: 96





	1. A Dream of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An excerpt from the Celia Arryn story “As High as Honor.”
> 
> Warning: some sexual content
> 
> For white-wyvern

Celia had walked these halls since she was a young girl and now she feared she might never be allowed to return to her home ever again. Never again would we see the High Hall and trace the blue veins of the white marble or trace the dark lines in the weirwood seat of her father. Never again would she look upon the Moon Door and lean against one of the slender pillars to look at the crescent moon carved upon the white wood. Never again would she warm herself near the fire in the Crescent Chamber after she and her brothers and Daeron climbed part of the Giant’s Lance. Never again would she look upon the elaborate tapestries of the Crescent Chamber. Never again would she rest upon the Myrish carpets in the solar to read a book. Never again would she sneak into the Lower Hall for an extra sip of wine. Never again would she break her fast in the Morning Hall. Never again would she look out upon the Vale and the Giant’s Lance from the balcony of the Maiden’s Tower. Never again would she remind her father to eat in the Moon Tower whenever he had shut himself away to work. 

She would never have these things again. 

Her nights of passion with Daeron had brought shame upon the noble House of Arryn when the king refused to allow a betrothal or even an acknowledgment of such an attachment. People of the Eyrie heard whispers, but there was little else, they wondered who it was that must have deflowered their liege lord’s daughter for both her brothers had been sent away as well. She was utterly alone with no lady in her father’s court willing to extend a loving had towards her. She was without a friend to stand by her side. She was without father, lover, brother, or friend. 

She could still feel Daeron’s lips upon her as he was pulled away by the kingsguard. _I’ll come back for you, I promise._

But he had sent no word and Celia felt herself grow ill at the thought of never seeing him again. 

The maester said it would be wise for her to journey to the Paps island to escape the whispers, although Celia much prefered to stay in the Eyrie and perhaps make her father see reason. However, after much deliberation with the maester, it was decided that Celia would leave and she knew that it was where she would stay. Her father was a man of honor, and such an honor could not be stained by a daughter deflowered and unwed and with child, regardless of how much the man who had taken her maidenhead longed to take her hand in marriage. It was as though the gods laughed at her, at her heart, at the dragonsblood that took root within her. 

_Take her by the safest road,_ her father had said. _A ship lies anchored by the castle of Snakewood. It awaits to carry her across the Fingers. This shall be the last journey of Celia Arryn._

A child’s laughter seemed to echo across the halls and Celia looked up to see a small child with silver hair dressed in Arryn blue flutter between the columns of the hall. There were no children of that appearance in the Eyrie. If there were, Celia would know it. She knew all who resides in the Eyrie, even the children and she did not recognize the one flitting about the hall. However, Celia felt something stir within her chest at the sight of the child. She did know them. Somewhere in her heart she knew them, but knew not why. 

The child continued to run until they reached the balcony. A silhouetted figure appeared upon the skyline as the child ran towards them. The figure turned and Celia recognized the man as Daeron. 

He was older, only just, but his lavender eyes were as kind as they had always been. He wore Targaryen black, but with veins of blue embroidered upon the fabric. A blue dragon was upon his chest with wings like a falcon spread out upon him. He was handsome still and smiling and happy, happier than the last time she saw him. 

Daeron bent down and picked up the laughing child, swinging them in the air as though it was the greatest joy in the world. 

The child turned to look at Celia, their blue eyes bright as a clear sky. 

“Mother!” the child called and Celia found herself running. 

She ran to them, one of Daeron’s arms opening to embrace her. He was warm and Celia felt tears come into her eyes as she felt the stubble of his chin scratch against her cheek. 

Her child, their child. The gods could only be so kind to give her such a vision only to let her know that such a thing could never be. 

Then she was in her bed, repeating the last moment of passion shared between herself and Daeron before their discovery. He was hovering above her, his head lowered and resting against her shoulder. Celia’s hand was fisted in his silvery white locks as her other hand braced against his arm, feeling the cords of his muscles tense and flex with every thrust of his hips. Her legs were wrapped around them pulling him down and grinding against him with every thrust. 

His breath fanned across her skin like fire as the icy air of the Eyrie sent a chill up her spine as he drove her higher and higher until there was nowhere else to go save down and she fell, crying out in pure ecstasy as his hips stuttered against hers and he spilled, sheathed deep inside her. The light of a bleeding star bathed her room with an iridescent light as she came down from her release, her breath finally catching up to her. 

Daeron hovered above her for a moment yet before sinking into her, his breath still hot against the cold air. Celia wrapped her arms around him, content that this dream would not end and she would not be pulled from him as she had in life. 

“Celia,” Daeron’s voice was soft and rough and perfect. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered, looking at her, still buried deep within her even after he had grown soft. “I don’t want to go.”

“Celia.” She stood before her father as the letter from the king, rejecting any sort of alliance between their two houses laid between them. News had come from the capital as well. The king had murdered his mistress and the bastard child that grew in her belly. “There is nothing for you here, only death. Do not wait for him when he shall not come.”

“He will come for me,” she said determined. 

Her father’s eyes were weary. “My daughter, he shall not, for even he can see that only death awaits those who hold the love of any dragon.”

“I have made my choice.”

“He is not coming back. Why linger when there is no hope?”

“There is still hope,” she breathed. 

“Celia, there is nothing for you here, only death.” 

Celia looked to her father as tears slid down her cheeks. He stood and went to her, showing her gentleness in his embrace, knowing that she would agree to his decision, to be parted from him and her home for the rest of her life, to never again walk the halls of her girlhood. To let her and her child live in the shadows where a king of fire and blood might never find them. 

A girl stood before Celia, silver hair and eyes as blue as a spring sky. In her hands was a sword of fire as snow swirled about her. A shrieking roar echoed about, shattering the clouds from the sky as warm air began to fan about them like flames in a long, neverending night. With her stood a boy who looked like Ned, a Valyrian blade in his hand, a ghost-like wolf at his side. There was a Dornish girl too, with eyes like deep violets, a spear in her hand and a crown of sunlight. Another boy stood, hair of lightly spun gold and dragon armor, he too held a sword of milk-like glass and a fire blazing in his dark eyes. Then there were more and more. Boys and girls with hair of fire and winter and all the shades in between. The ice and fire clashed and swirled about her in what felt like the beginning and the end of all things. 

Celia awoke from her sleep, her breath caught in her throat as she shot up from her bed. She slipped from the sheets and pulled on her robes, the light of the sun spilling ever so slightly onto the earth in the distance. 

“Lady Arryn,” one of her guards attempted to stop her, but Celia paid him no mind and rushed to her father’s solar. She climbed up the steps and opened the door. 

“What did you see?” she demanded, standing before her father. 

“Celia,” he began.

“You have the gift of foresight. Everyone trusts in your thoughts of what is to come.” She stood taller then, no longer a girl who would blindly follow her father’s bidding, even if he believed he was doing what was best for her. “What is it that has you so frightened?”

“The time of dragons is coming to an end,” he said. “The winds are changing and Daeron has lost his father’s favor due to the incident with you. Rhaegar is gathering followers like a fanatic and Viserys is merely a child.”  
“That still does not explain—”

“Something is brewing beneath the alliances between all the houses of Westeros and the Targaryens. Madness has been allowed to be unchecked for far too long. I fear only death will follow you and your child should you be allowed to remain where others may find you far too easily.”

“Father, what is going on?”

“A tourney is to be held at Harrenhal.”

Celia narrowed his eyes. “And what is so special about such a tourney?”

“The Whents do not have the money for the prize they are offering. Princess Elia is with child and many fear she will not survive a second pregnancy so soon after Princess Rhaenys’ birth.”

“You believe someone is funding the tourney. To what end?”

“An heir for the crown prince. None can be certain that the child the Dornish princess bears will be a son. What’s more, a king of Dornish blood has never been fully supported in Westeros.”

“You believe that the prince might choose a second bride?”

“Perhaps. But what does that have to do with me?”

“Although Daeron has no support from his father, many prefer him over Rhaegar, who shows very little interest in the acts of ruling.” Celia put a protective hand over her belly. “Your child might easily be used to go against Rhaegar and his own children. There is nothing more dangerous than a child being told he is to be king only for his crown to be taken away.”

“You sent Robert and Ned away to confuse our people,” Celia said in realization. 

“They may not understand it yet, but yes. Rumors have spread that your lover could have been the Stark boy or the Baratheon head. A drop of dragonsblood has been diluted by rumors. However, should the child be born with silver hair.” 

“Father, perhaps you are wrong. Perhaps—”

“I pray to all the gods that I am wrong,” he interrupted. “But I cannot let you be at risk when I could be right. I will not lose the last thing your mother gave me.”

Celia closed her eyes. She went to her father’s side and got on her knees, putting her hand on his arm. “I shall not leave, for I believe the end will not be as dark as you think. There is hope.”

“Celia—”

“We must push forward, Father. I believe that the gods have not abandoned us yet. I will leave only when it is necessary, but that time has not come yet. I still have a part to play in all this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the allusions to Arwen and Elrond from Lord of the Rings!!!!!
> 
> And I wonder who the people on Celia’s dreams were 😘


	2. I Will Always Come for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An except from the Celia Arryn fic “As High as Honor”
> 
> For white-wyvern

“I will vouch for the bard,” Daeron said, stepping forward. 

She was dressed in Arryn blue. Her golden hair had paled in the years he had not seen her, but her eyes were the same as they were when he last kissed her goodbye, a deep, deep bluish green that called to him like a song. She was just as lovely as she had been all those years ago. She was still his Celia, his life, his love, his very heart. The only woman who could hold his attention at all, the only woman he felt at ease with. 

“Celia,” her name escaped from his lips like a breath and, for a moment, it felt as though nothing else mattered. He had not meant to say her name. He wanted to keep his focus on Aeylor, but how could he ignore her? Not when he had not been allowed to be so close to her for so many years. In that moment, all that mattered was just her. It was as though he were a boy again and she was the only thing in the world that made sense. 

_Celia walked in on her father’s arm, her chin held high as he escorted her into the great hall of the Eyrie. She was dressed in blue, her braids let loose and flowing down her back like gold._

_She was radiant, but she always was, if Daeron were honest._

_Robert elbowed him slightly in the side. “Pick up your jaw, Dae,” the Baratheon boy muttered. “You don’t want to look like a fool and drool.”_

_“I am_ not _drooling,” Daeron whispered back._

_“You definitely were,” Ned said, keeping his gaze forward. “Shit.”_

_Daeron and Robert realized that Lord Arryn was glaring at the lot of them and they stood straighter in attention, not wanting to disappoint their foster father. The three of them held the man in too high a regard to do so._

_Celia’s giggle rang like a bell and Daeron felt heat rise to his cheeks and knew that his ears were red. Even so, a smile came to his lips. If he was the reason for her laughter, the cost of embarrassment was worth it._

Celia stood up from her place on the weirwood throne, her eyes wide and Daeron knew she felt the same as he let his hood fall. The air about them seemed to shift as everything for the past sixteen years seemed to fall into place. Had she sensed him as he had felt her. 

“Father!” Alys’ voice drew Daeron’s attention from his lover and onto his daughter. Tears pricked at Daeron’s eyes as she ran into his now open arms. He held her close, pressing his face into her hair and holding her tightly. There was a thrumming in his blood, as though everything now suddenly made sense in his life. He was a father. In his arms was living and breathing proof that his and Celia’s love existed. 

“A Targaryen in the Eyrie?” A snake-like voice echoed through the great hall and Daeron looked up to find Petyr Baelish smirking. Daeron pulled Alys to him more tightly. “Even if you were to make right the wrong the bard possibly committed, you are still a man of an outcast house.”

Daeron held his daughter in his arms, pressing her face against his chest as though to protect her from all harm. “I come here based on the request of King Robert Baratheon, first of his name.” A whisper began to circulate amongst the lords. Celia glanced at Lord Baelish and saw the man frowning. “Unlike you, Baelish, I remember my friends and they remember me because I have no need to pay them to. I came because my king demanded I see what troubles were stirring in the Eyrie. You’ve miscalculated, Baelish. We are preparing for a war greater than anything you can imagine. I have returned to my family and I shall protect them, as is my right, from those that would harm them.”

Celia seemed to come into herself as she spoke next. “You speak for this bard?”

“Yes, my lady,” Daeron said, bowing his head. “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s betrothed to my younger sister and under my protection, which also means he is under the king’s protection.” 

“You claim that you serve King Robert Baratheon,” Lord Baelish said. “Yet he is the very one who killed your brother and possibly usurped your right to rule.”

“I could care less about my brother, he endangered everyone in Westeros because he wanted to wet—” Daeron paused, remembering he held his daughter in his arms. “Because of the disgrace he caused my good sister, our cousin, and the Starks. Robert is a good king and a man I would trust, have trusted, with my daughter. I speak for the king.” He pulled out Robert’s royal seal. There were only three in existence. One for Robert, one for the Hand, and one for Daeron. It was a sign that the king had granted someone else power to give his orders if need be. A hushed gasp echoed about the hall. “And by the king’s grace, Lord Baelish, you are charged with conspiracy and murder towards Jon and Lysa Arryn.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe! Aeylor shout out!   
> And Littlefinger is going to be slammed in his place!


	3. A Love I Cannot Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will eventually be the prologue of the Celia Tully fic “A Choice Not Mine”
> 
> Warning: a LOT of angst and pining
> 
> For ser-braxton

Jaime stood in his dress attire, not wearing his armor as it was to be a celebration of unity to show that the rebellion was over and peace had been won at last. He wore a gold tunic and dark red trousers, his sword sheathed in its hilt attached to his belt. The Kingsguard were to only wear their swords, not a bit of armor leather beneath their clothes either. The only thing showing them to be of the Kingsguard was the white cloak around his shoulders. 

In all honesty, they probably shouldn’t have allowed him his sword. Ser Arthur Dayne seemed to agree as he had his thumb subtly on the hilt of Jaime’s sword to keep it from being drawn. Ser Oswell Whent kept glancing at Jaime sympathetically. However, the knight was close by just in case he needed to stop Jaime from doing something stupid. 

While Jaime greatly respected all the knights when it came to their abilities, he had lost most of it when it came to their hand in the rebellion, or lack thereof. They knew what Rhaegar was doing. They knew what he planned. They helped him. They did not argue against a green boy, who had not yet seen battle, being left as the only Kingsguard to be the only guard for the king and the prince’s family and the entire keep and city. True, they applauded him and he had earned merit in his actions of taking out the Mad King when it became apparent of what he was going to do to the city. However, now there would always be a wariness about him, especially now… Especially now. 

He glared up at the altar where the prince stood. 

Prince Daeron had a similar appearance to the new king, however, he was of a more sturdy build and a stern looking face. Cersei had told Jaime that he was possibly more handsome than King Rhaegar, but the set expression he held was tighter than the more calm, almost mournful, appearance of the king. 

The prince stood in Targaryen black, veins of red embroidered into the velvet. A small circlet of rose gold upon his head and the broach signifying him as his brother’s Hand was upon his breast. He looked as stern as ever, seeming to not care at all about who he was about to marry, whose life he was about to ruin. 

The doors of the sept opened and Jaime’s heart thundered in his chest as he turned to look at her. This should have been their day. This should have been the beginning of their lives together. The should have been the day he proclaimed to all the gods that he belonged to her and that she was his. 

But first the Mad King got in their way, dragging Jaime into the Kingsguard without so much as a choice. Now… Now she was to marry someone else and he would be left to guard her for the rest of his days. He thought of the story of Queen Naerys and Aemon the Dragonknight. How could the Targaryen prince stomach it? At the very least Jaime had heard no rumors of the prince harming women. If he had… He would run the damned Targaryen prince through, not caring for the consequences. It was probably why Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell were at his side. 

Celia was beautiful. Her red hair cascaded down her back like fire, a braided rose behind her head a comb of sapphire like a small tiara in her hair. She wore a white dress, the color of pearls, a slight sheen to the fabric that made it look like mother of pearl. Golden embroidery was under the iridescent fabric. Jaime had no doubt she had made it herself. Celia had been working on it for years. 

He could still remember her lips upon his as he had her pressed up against one of the walls of Harrenhal during that blasted tourney. He could remember her taste and the sweetness of her breath as she admitted to being almost finished with her dress, of how she had even sewn a shift for underneath it, just for him, of myrish lace for his eyes and his alone.

She was a dream and a nightmare all at once. 

Celia’s eyes shifted to him as her father walked her down the aisle. Her blue eyes were shining bright and Jaime knew she was almost going to cry. Ser Oswell put a hand on his arm to keep him still and Jaime wanted to scream. He would too if he were not afraid that the new king might take his anger out on Celia. Jaime wanted to run to her, hold her, press his lips to hers as he would whisper sweet everythings and comfort her. 

She looked away from him and Jaime felt his heart shatter in his chest. He had not even felt so broken or uncertain of everything when he had run his sword through the Mad King’s back. How is it that this was the moment he would repeat in his mind over and over until his final breath? He knew the answer. He loved her. He loved her more than anything and anyone in his entire life. And now she was being given to another man, nothing more than a war prize to keep the peace, an offering of the losing side to appease those who had one. 

Jaime watched as Prince Daeron offered Celia his arm and he walked her the last few steps to the altar as the septon presided over the ceremony. Jaime did not hear the words of affirmation or the professions of loyalty. He was numb. His entire body was numb. It was as though he couldn’t breathe. 

One thing was certain though, his heart stopped as her maiden cloak was removed and the Targaryen one was placed around her shoulders. 

Jaime was fairly certain he was dead or, at least, a part of him had died at the sight of her cloaked in the Targaryen colors and watched as a single tear slid down her cheek. 

—

Celia sat next to her new husband and watched as the loyalist and the rebel lords talked amongst themselves. The tension could be cut with a knife and Celia could feel the air hang heavy around them. She glanced at her new good brother. 

The king was more morose and withdrawn than usual. He was in mourning after all. His smile was tight and forced whenever someone approached him, but Celia felt no sympathy towards him, turning her attention to Queen Elia. 

The Dornish woman sat proudly next to the king, looking more like royalty than the king himself, her curled hair was styled to perfection, her lips painted a delicate red and her dark eyes like those of a viper, ready to strike at the opportune moment. Everyone had heard the tale of her bravery, of how she had fought like a tigress protecting her cubs as the Mountain attempted to hurt her and her children. She had used one of her hairpins, stabbing hip in the eye and through his skull. The queen had been well loved in the past in her time as a princess, but, as a queen, she was revered. 

It was hard to believe that scarce a few months ago they were all at war and the Red Keep was being sacked by an unknown force, it appeared Ironborn, but Celia wondered if it might have been an attempt by Tywin Lannister for a bid for power. She didn’t know and she was terrified to ask, not wanting to upset her new family or to put Jaime in danger. 

Jaime. 

She looked out in the crowd of people and found him watching her. Her heart fluttered in her chest although she knew it shouldn’t. But, how could it not. It seemed as though it only beat for him, it had for a long time. 

Celia looked away, a flush coming to her cheeks as shame swirled in her belly. She was a married woman now, expected to do all that her husband commanded her. But fear fluttered there as well. His father had taken mistresses and forced Queen Rhaella to an early grave over all the pregnancies and miscarriages. His brother had forced a second dangerous pregnancy upon Queen Elia shortly after her first and also ran off with a girl who was not yet even a woman and killed her in childbirth. 

Celia glanced at the man beside her. She wondered if he would dishonor her so as well or if he would force child upon child upon her, if he saw her as a broodmare for which he could act upon his natural impulses. 

“Would you like to dance, my lady.” 

She blinked and realized her husband was speaking to her. “Pardon?” 

“Would you like to dance?” he repeated. 

She looked at him with wide eyes. He seemed sincere, but how was she to know. The Mad King was good in the beginning too and many thought King Rhaegar to be wise as well. She glanced down and saw that he was offering her his hand. Hesitantly, she took it. 

“If it pleases you, my prince.”

His lips twitched downward for a split second, but his expression grew neutral once more and he helped her from her seat and guided her towards the center of the hall. The music shifted slightly, noticing that the couple of the hour had gotten up to dance. Prince Daeron drew her into his arms, one hand in her own and another on her back. Celia stiffened ever so slightly at the feeling of it. They were so close, almost too close to be proper, but he was the groom and a Targaryen. No one would say anything against him. However, Celia could see some of the Riverlords tensing, watching their lord's youngest daughter get pulled into the music as though she wore a chain around her throat. 

Her new husband was warm too, as though his fire were made of blood. She supposed it would be nice then, on cold nights. However, Celia began to wonder if they would even share the same rooms. The Mad King and Queen Rhaella didn’t. To her knowledge, neither did King Rhaegar or Queen Elia. Perhaps he would be a distant husband. She felt calmed by the idea, but then very fearful. What if she bore him a son and he tossed her away? Wasn’t that all they needed her for? To connect them with the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale? Ned’s nephew for her child? Would they let her die on the birthing bed to make it easier? Would—

“You should stop that.”

“What?” Celia looked up at the prince, blinking in confusion. 

“You are thinking too hard,” he replied.

She blinked up at him, her mouth open slightly. 

He glanced away. “Forgive me, perhaps I should not have disturbed your thoughts.”

“Is your mind not filled with thoughts on such an occasion, my prince?” Celia asked. “I believe if there were any days that one is allowed to reflect and overthink, it is on one’s wedding day.” 

“I suppose,” he said with a sigh. “I find my thoughts rather muddled as well. I fear my mind is still too focused on everything that must be done afterward.    
“Is there anything you wished to speak of, my prince?” Celia asked hesitantly. Perhaps there was some way she could make herself useful. She knew that King Rhaegar had only been recently crowned and she had no doubt that her new husband, as the Lord Hand, would have plenty to do. 

“Daeron,” he said. “If I am to know you intimately, you might as well say my name.” 

The almost detached way in which he said it caused Celia to flinch slightly. She opened her mouth to speak when another voice floated into her ear, a whisper of a lady dancing with her partner. 

_ When do you think the bedding will be?  _

In shock, Celia stepped away from Prince Daeron the second the final note of the song played and Celia dipped into a low curtsy. 

“Forgive me, my prince,” she said. “I need some air.”

“My lady—”

Celia left quickly, trying to keep herself from crying any more than she had during the ceremony. She found herself in a hallway far from the great hall and began to breathe. 

“Celia.”

She turned and saw Jaime standing by her, where he should have always been from the beginning. 

“Jaime,” she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly as she reached for him. 

The knight wrapped his arms around her and then his lips were against her own. Celia melted into his embrace and pressed her lips more firmly to his. It could go no further than a chaste kiss, they could not risk her lips bruising in their want for one another. They needed to be quick too. The Targaryens would not be kind if they were caught in even one of the more innocent of compromised positions. 

“They will call for a bedding,” she whispered as he pulled away, pressing his brow against hers. 

“Don’t,” he choked, holding onto her tightly. 

“They will,” she said. “And what if they demand witnesses?” Celia held onto him, trembling. “I cannot— I don’t want this, Jaime.” 

“I know.” He backed her against the wall and Celia could feel his want between her legs. “I know.” Jaime slid his grip up her arm and held it gently. “If he hurts you, if he ever shames you, I shall kill him myself. I will be no Dragonknight that stands by to do nothing.”

Celia rested her head upon his chest. “We could run away.”

“I would need to prepare, but I know you do not wish for another war, another fight that would cause the death of even more.” He kissed her again and Celia hummed into his lips. “But if he hurts you, I will take you far away where none could find us.”

Celia nuzzled his face with her own. “Why are the gods so cruel? To bring us together so often only to bring us apart?”

“I don’t know,” he breathed, his breath fanning across her skin. “I don’t know.”

—

Daeron was almost shoved into his chambers when the giggling stopped and he glanced over to see Elia standing proudly, glaring at the other women who had been in the process of tearing off the last stitch of clothing he had besides his smallcloth, his trousers. 

“You are dismissed,” she said firmly. The ladies all curtsied and left, giggling as they went to rejoin the feast. Elia then turned her gaze towards him. Daeron bowed “Treat her well, Daeron.” 

He looked up at her, straightening. “I am. I will.” 

His good sister sighed. “Daeron, for all your strength in strategy, you are utterly hopeless when it comes to speaking to strangers. I have no doubt you have already formed a bad impression.”

“I’ve scarcely spoken to her.” 

“You have had ample chances to do so, then.” she said, her lips twitching ever so slightly. She sobered quickly. “She did not ask for this marriage, Daeron.”

“Neither did I,” he countered. 

“No,” she said gently. “You didn’t.” Elia put her hand on his arm. “Even so, the Targaryens have not, in recent years, been known to be very kind to women. Prove her wrong and you may yet have a friend in her, perhaps one that will… be understanding.” 

Daeron looked away, determined not to look her good sister in the eye. “Don’t.” 

“I am speaking to Rhaegar. I am seeing if—”

“Unless you know for certain,” he said. “I don’t wish to know.”

Elia nodded. “Go to her, Daeron, and be the gentle man I know you can be.” 

He watched as she left before taking a deep breath, readying himself. He opened the door and found her sitting on his bed in nothing but her shift.

Damn.

His cock twitched beneath his trousers. He’d been so awestruck by her appearance that his mind had fizzed out like a firework in water. He had thought she was enchanting during the Tourney at Harrenhal as well, but had kept his distance then as well. He had other things to worry about at the time and hadn’t been able to pay much mind to the pretty Tully girl with hair like a flickering flame. 

She was as beautiful as she had been when he first saw her, but he could see the paleness of her skin in the moonlight, the way she was trembling at the sight of him. If he had been aroused, it was flagged at that understanding. 

He bowed to her. “My lady.” 

“My prince.” 

He wished she would say his name. He knew he had said something stupid at the feast, his tone often got him in trouble. His mother had always said he was horrid when it came to expressing himself. But, when a boy wished to steer clear of his father’s wrath, he learned to keep his emotions in check. Emotions only ever led to people getting hurt. 

His new wife stood and gave him a curtsy before pulling her shift over her head.

She was like marble or porcelain. If he handled her wrong, Daeron had no doubt she would break. He kept his eyes upon her face, forcing himself to keep them there. Whether it was to disprove whatever she thought of him or because he did not wish to frighten her, he did not know. 

Daeron stepped forward and he leaned down to press his lips to hers. Celia turned her head so that he kissed her cheek. 

“Please,” she whispered.

He pulled back and saw tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. His heart broke for her. He cupped her jaw in his hands and kissed her tears away. 

“I will try to make it as painless as possible,” he vowed. She nodded as he continued to kiss her neck and pulled her flush to him. His wife trembled against him as she felt his want for her. “I promise.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the angst. All of it. 
> 
> And Daeron has a secret, but he is also horrible when it comes to talking to women. Especially pretty women


	4. Secret Histories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For to-pick-ourselves-up-7
> 
> This is an expert from Tempest Grove a fic which focuses on the tangling relationships between Celia Hightower, her husband Renly Baratheon, and his lover/her cousin Loras Tyrell.  
> The fic would alter between the main story and an archaeological dig going on in Tempest Grove which will tell the modern scholars at least some of the mysteries of the original occupants of the ancient keep.

By the time Celia Baratheon died (between 369 or 370 AC), she was the mother of six children and a grandmother of five. Very little is known about her early life before marrying the Lord of Tempest Grove, Renly Baratheon, save for fostering in Highgarden. It is theorized that her parents, or at least her father, died when she was a child as it was her grandfather who gave her away. 

Very little of her day to day life is also documented, her personal history shrouded in mystery, with only public records found in the Citadel being the main source of information of this mysterious woman. There was her trial in 306 AC where she was accused of adultery and the legitimacy of her youngest child at the time, with claims of the child being sired by Ser Aaron Moore, her sworn shield, instead of her husband, being called into question. The two are famously the unnamed inspirations of the song  _ The Mountain Knight and the Maid.  _ A trial of combat was called by both parties and the two were found innocent once their champions, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Loras Tyrell, won their respective matches. Some still speculate, however, that Lady Baratheon’s children, all six, were fathered by the Valeman, although all her known descendants deny such allegations. 

While Celia Baratheon, herself, is shrouded in mystery, her husband is not. 

In 787 AC, letters exchanged between Lord Renly Baratheon and Ser Loras Tyrell were discovered in Highgarden. The letters were of a romantic nature and, while the letters were initially dismissed at the time, the two historical figures became icons within the LGBTQA+ community. Another letter was discovered five years later in Storm’s End between Lord Stannis Baratheon and King Rhaegar Targaryen, his cousin. The letter mentions Renly Baratheon’s  _ preferences  _ and how a girl with no family or political backing would make a good wife for the supposedly wayward Stormlord. 

The relationship between the four original members of the Tempest Grove household have been up for speculation for centuries. There have been films and fictitious novels as well as a few musicals inspired by their lives. Depending on what scholar you ask, you would receive a different answer on who these four people were. 

Some hypothesize that Lady Celia Baratheon was used cruelly within her marriage as it was unnecessary, but others would argue that her lord husband and his lover would not have fought so gallantly for her innocence in her famous trial against the Faith Militant if there wasn’t some care for her. Some believe that she was unaware of her husband and cousin’s affair, while others claim she knew of it and took Ser Aaron Moore as her lover to equal her husband’s standing within the household. 

However, one thing is for certain, the six children of Celia Baratheon, and whoever their sire was, are well placed in history, despite the mysteries of their childhood. 

Duncan Baratheon married Alayna Lannister and became Lord of Tempest Grove after his father’s death in 368 AC. He was well known for his architecture and great improvements upon his father’s keep as well as the rest of the Stormlands. Duncanian architecture is still one of the more famous movements within Westeros, with updates to King’s Landing even being overseen by the young Baratheon at the age of forty-five. 

Margaery, better known as Maggie, Baratheon went on to marry Daeron Dayne, who inherited the title of Sword of the Morning from his great uncle. Her fashion was well known around Westeros and her style was often copied within court. Her sketches survive to this day and, for that reason, the fashion of her lifetime is well documented. 

Perianne, more commonly referred to as Peri, Baratheon married Arthur Moore, the nephew of Ser Aaron Moore, and resided in the Vale. Although she, herself, is not famous, her great grandson became the first man in Westeros to create an air balloon, although it is nothing like the hot air balloons we know today. 

Martyn Baratheon went on to marry Naerys Targaryen, the daughter of Prince Jon Targaryen and his wife Sansa Stark. He was a well known swordsman, bringing the concept of knighthood more widespread throughout the kingdom of the North. 

Raymont Baratheon married Princess Elia Targaryen and later served as Hand of King Baelor II, well known for his care for the smallfolk and his quick wit, often bringing the royal family to tears in their laughter. His policies on faith within politics is heavily linked to his own mother’s trial, although he was not yet born at the time of the incident. 

Steffon Baratheon never married, although there is some speculation that he and Argon Greyjoy, a sea captain he often took journeys with, were lovers, but such claims have gone unsubstantiated. He is the creator of some of the most accurate maps of the period and allows modern scholars to better understand trade and commerce of the mid 300s.

However, just this morning, there was a collapsed wall within the old sept of the Stormland keep of Tempest Grove, the home of these mysterious and famous historical figures. A tunnel was discovered under the cracked floor and archaeologists wonder what secrets the tunnel, which upon first inspection appears to be a tomb, might reveal. 


	5. To Be Loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For to-pick-ourselves-up-7
> 
> This is an expert from Tempest Grove a fic which focuses on the tangling relationships between Celia Hightower, her husband Renly Baratheon, and his lover/her cousin Loras Tyrell.  
> The fic would alter between the main story and an archaeological dig going on in Tempest Grove which will tell the modern scholars at least some of the mysteries of the original occupants of the ancient keep.

Celia waited upon her husband’s bed, her heart fluttering against her chest as she did so. She had been left only in her shift when the men had deposited her at her husband’s door and her two eldest cousins, Willas and Garlan, had pressed a kiss to her cheek and wished her well. 

So, there she was, waiting for her husband to come and claim her, to take her maidenhead and to make their marriage solid. In concept, Celia understood what was to happen. Her mother had died too early to impart any wisdom for Celia about marriage, save for the wonders that she had witnessed her parents have. Her father had died the same time and he could give her no words of encouragement either. Aunt Alerie had given her a few words of comfort, while Lady Olenna had been rather blunt about the whole thing. 

Lady Olenna cared very little for Celia and had never bothered to hide her dislike. Celia had been cautious when the Queen of Thorns had ordered her to her solar to speak of what it was exactly that happened on a wedding night. 

“But do not worry,” the old woman had said. “I doubt you will perform such duties often. An heir for Tempest Grove and an heir for Storm’s End, unless Stannis is able to get a son at all. Hightowers have always been fertile women.” She looked Celia over. “I am certain you would be with child not long after the wedding and then one soon after that and your husband will be done with you. Best learn how to pleasure yourself, girl. I doubt your husband will care to.” 

But Lady Olenna was wrong. Her own grandfather had assured Celia that her husband was good and kind and caring. He was her cousin Loras’ best friend and Celia would trust Loras with her life. Renly would treat her well, she was certain. He would treat her well and they would have a marriage like her parents built on love and affection. She just knew it. 

Renly had been so kind during the ceremony, holding her hand and squeezing it gently when it was obvious she was nervous. He had kissed her tenderly when called to and had been so very attentive during the wedding feast, dancing with her in the first song and allowing her to be passed between some of her cousins as she did not know when she might see them again. 

Renly was brave and gentle and strong and he would be a good husband. He would be all that Celia had dreamed him to be. She would finally have a home of her own and, hopefully, sooner rather than later, she would have a growing family of her own. 

An echo of giggles reached her ears and Celia stood abruptly just as the door opened and Renly was pushed in, wearing nothing but his trousers. Celia let her eyes fall to the floor, not sure she could handle seeing him so bare. Even so, he was handsome, there was no denying that. Handsome, so very handsome. 

“My lord,” Celia said in a curtsy.

“Renly,” he corrected, coming towards her with a smile. “Surely you may call me by my given name, now that we’re married.”

“Renly,” she repeated, the name sweet like honey on her tongue. “Then you may call me Celia.” 

“Celia,” he said, his grin still upon his lips. He went to the table of his rooms and poured two goblets of wine. He brought one to her and she took it as her own. “Here,” he said. “This will help you with your nerves.” 

Celia took a sip, feeling rather grown up in her situation. Even so, she was nervous. What if she did it wrong? What if Renly did not like it? What if Lady Olenna was correct?

“You know what is to happen tonight, correct?” Renly asked. 

Celia blushed and wondered if he would kiss her again. “Yes,” she said, taking another sip of wine and glancing at him. “I hope that I can please you, Renly.” 

Something in his gaze shifted and he took the wine from her and set it back down on the table as well as his own. “Celia,” he said tenderly. She smiled at him, certain he would assure her that she would, that they would learn to make it pleasant together. “There is something you should know.” 

He looked so earnest, his eyes filled with concern. “What is it?”

“What have you heard of me before coming here?”

Celia’s smile slipped from her lips. “I have heard wonderful things about you, Renly,” she said, linking her arm with his and threading her fingers between his own. “Your people love and admire you. You are a decent swordsman and you are known to be kind” 

He smiled at her praise. “Is that all you heard of me?” he asked. “I was certain you would have heard about my preferences.” 

She looked up at him, her eyes widening ever so slightly. Celia had heard whispers of it, but she had not thought it true. She had thought it only rumors, only something to slight a man of his appearance. She looked down at her lap, squeezing his arm tightly. “I have heard,” she said slowly. “That you prefer the company of men.” 

“And that would be true,” he said tenderly. “I prefer men and would rather keep them to my bed.” 

A knot formed in Celia’s throat and she felt herself growing dizzy, whether from the revelation or the wine, she was not sure. “Then,” she began hesitantly. “Are you not to take my maidenhead?”

“I must,” he said. “I have signed a contract between your grandfather and both my elder brothers, as have you.” 

“But you will find no pleasure in it?” Her limbs grew numb, her joints suddenly growing heavy. She could still hear Renly’s voice proclaim before the Seven that he was hers. Sweet words. But words were wind. Only wind, and a Baratheon was a storm, full of wind and lies. Even sweet sounding ones.

“I would find no pleasure in it,” he confirmed. 

“Is there no way for me to please you?” She felt like she had as a child, standing before Lady Olenna doing everything that she could to please the elderly woman, but nothing had ever been enough.  _ She _ had never been enough. 

“No,” he replied. “There is only one who can please me.” 

So, he had a lover already, a man who filled his heart so that there was no room left for her. “Who is he?”

“You need not worry of such things, Celia,” he said. Her name sounded careless now on his tongue. “It is a useless thought.” 

“I should know whom I am to share my husband with,” she reasoned. 

“Loras,” he replied and Celia felt as though the ground had opened and swallowed her whole. 

Loras, who had been her greatest friend and truest companion since her parents died. Loras, who had been the first boy she had ever kissed, the first boy she had ever loved. Loras, who she had thought would be her truest suporter in their new home. Loras, who had looked at her in annoyance during the entire journey there. Loras, whose sister had been giggling with Celia as she prepared for the wedding. Loras, whose brothers had kissed her cheeks and wished her well. Loras, whose grandmother knew that she was sending Celia off to marry a man who would never love her, never want her, never need her. A man who would be apathetic to her very presence in his keep, a place that was meant to be her home. 

Celia let go of her husband’s hand and released his arm, leaning across him to grab her goblet of wine and down the rest of its contents. It was all that she could do to keep from crying. Renly reached to his own goblet and finished his wine more slowly, as though it were medicine he was forcing himself to take, as though the very thought of touching her so intimately was disgusting. 

_ Poor little Celia,  _ the voice of one of her Hightower cousin echoed in her head.  _ Nobody wants you.  _

Celia laid back on the bed as Renly climbed atop her, not even bothering to take her shift from her body. She could see his eyes were closed as he took himself in hand to ready himself and she looked away, not wanting to see that he wasn’t even going to try. He wasn’t even going to try and want her, even try to make this night special. He didn’t bother to let her feel anything other than the sharp pain of him entering her. The room echoed with his grunts and her whimpers. Loras’ name upon his lips as he grew more heated, more wanting. He growled her cousin’s name at his release and Celia felt used and dirty. 

Renly rolled onto his back and ran his fingers through his hair, unbothered by all of it. 

As though he had not claimed Celia’s body for his own but rather found it not worth any care or attention. 

_ You wicked girl,  _ Lady Olenna’s voice came into her mind.  _ You think you deserve love? _

Perhaps she didn’t. Perhaps this was the gods telling her that she was never meant to be loved. 

_ You should have been buried with them.  _

Celia slipped from the bed, her body numb save for the apex between her legs. _Lord_ Renly did not try to stop her. She wondered if Loras... _Ser Loras_ was waiting for her to leave. She wondered if he had been thinking of her as a burden this entire trip. She wondered if he hated her. Perhaps she would learn to handle her new husband’s apathy, but Loras’ hatred... She was not sure she could bear it. 

The echoes of the feast danced across the halls as she made her way to the room she had stayed in the night before. She went to her trunk, which had never been moved. He had never planned on trying to love her, had he? She pulled out her mother’s quilt and wrapped it around her shoulders before climbing into the bed, letting the tears fall. 

It would have been better if she had died with them. It would have been better if Lady Olenna’s reed had been a true whip. Let her legs be disfigured. At least there would be a reason for no men to want her. But, as she was, there was no excuse. She was simply an unwanted orphan used to barter and trade like cattle.

Her tears continued on, even as she drifted off to sleep. 

_ Stupid girl, why would anyone ever love you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renly is not a horrible person, he’s just not thinking. Celia already has a load of self-esteem issues, even before her wedding knight, Renly’s statements and actions just aren’t helpful.   
> In this fic, Renly identifies as gay (although I’m not sure the term itself is what he would call himself, I’m not well versed enough on when the terminology became more widely used). However, he would begin to grow very fond of Celia that borders romantic and sexual, but this is more due to the very deep bond the two create over the years.  
> In this fic, Loras is bisexual (again, I’m not sure if this is the term he would use). He is very much in love with Renly, but there are moments of his childhood that were rather traumatic that center around Celia.   
> Celia is straight, although she is polyamorous (again, terminology of the time wouldn’t be what it is today).   
> Olenna will not be a good person in this, at the very least she will be an antagonist.   
> I hope you guys liked this!


	6. Can’t Help Falling in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For igotmadskills
> 
> This is an excerpt from “All that Glitters” where Tywin remarries to Hoster Tully’s sister.

_Wise men say_

_Only fools rush in_

_But I can't help falling in love with you_

_Shall I stay?_

_Would it be a sin_

_If I can't help falling in love with you?_

She was unlike Joanna in almost every way.

There were the obvious differences of course. 

Joanna has golden hair that shone as though it had been spun by the gods themselves. Her eyes were like pure emeralds. She was good and ruthless and was everything to him. Joanna was his everything and now she was gone. How could he survive without her and now the gods had ordain that he not be with her ever again. If the gods had been good, he would have died with her. His heart had gone with her and he knew that he would never be the same. The man who had loved his wife, the man that he had been, whom she had loved, was gone. 

This girl was different. Woman, really. 

Celia Tully’s hair was a fiery red and her eyes were the clearest blue. She was Joanna’s opposite. Tywin couldn’t believe that he had agreed to this marriage, but his father had given him little choice in the matter. At the very least it was a way to get Riverland resources. 

Tywin extended his hand and she placed her hand delicately upon his own as their hands were joined by the cloth as the Septon droned on and on. Her hand was unfamiliar and it felt wrong against his own. He should not be here. 

He should be with Joanna. 

“I will try to be a proper wife to you, my lord,” she said as they walked to the feast for their wedding. “I will try to be a good influence to your children as well. Raise them as Joanna would have wanted.”

“Thank you,” he said. “As long as you don’t expect love.”

“Of course, my lord.” There was no pain and disappointment in her tone. It was as though she had expected it. “I miss her too. I would like to think she is watching us now, silently judging everyone from the people who shall make speeches and those who shall no doubt gossip during the whole thing.”

Tywin’s lips twitched, but he did not smile. 

_Like a river flows_

_Surely to the sea_

_Darling, so it goes_

_Some things are meant to be_

Celia yawned and took hold of Cersei’s hand while shifting Jaime higher on her hip. Tyrion was much too young for what was needed and was already asleep in the nursery cot connected to her and Lord Tywin’s rooms.

“What are you doing?” her husband asked as he sat in their bed, reading over a book about the finances. He was already dressed for bed.

“Jaime had a nightmare,” she said, pressing a kiss to the top of the boy’s head. “Cersei was frightened she would get one too. My father and mother often let my brothers or I sleep with them when we had nightmares. I thought it only fair that the children get the chance as well.”

“My lady—”

“It is not as though anything will be disturbed,” she said. “We are husband and wife only in name. I am certain you shall leave the bed if you have any urges.”

Celia set Jaime down next to his father and helped Cersei into the bed next to Jaime before crawling in herself.

Her husband merely stared at her as the children cuddled to her. Cersei climbed over top her so she might be on Celia’s other side and pressed her face into her breast while Jaime had his head on her shoulder. She put her arms around them and closed her eyes, still feeling her husband’s gaze upon her.

“Goodnight, my lord,” she said softly. “Goodnight, sweetlings”

“Night,” Cersei replied. 

Jaime merely grunted, his fist tightening on the fabric of her night shift. 

_Take my hand_

_Take my whole life too_

_For I can't help falling in love with you_

Tywin ran his fingers through his hair as he leaned against the headboard. His wife had already gotten out of their bed to wash and redress herself. Her skin was porcelain against the moonlight. Her hair, a river of fire. 

“Were you pleased, my lord?” She asked, braiding her hair. 

“Well enough,” he said. 

She nodded and turned her back to him. 

Tywin watched as she continued to braid her hair, as the moonlight shone through her shift, showing him the silhouette he had gotten himself familiar with only a few moments before. 

She was beautiful, but Tywin would never tell her so. Joanna was the only one he would share such compliments to, her and their daughter, who grew more and more like her mother with every day that passed. 

_Like a river flows_

_Surely to the sea_

_Darling, so it goes_

_Some things are meant to be_

Tywin had been worried that seeing her in the aftermath of childbirth would leave him cold. He had been running hot ever since one of the servants ran into his study announcing that his wife had gone into an early labor. A fear that he was to lose Celia now when he had finally come to see her as more than a lady by his side.

Avari, one of Celia’s ladies maids from Dorne, urged Tywin to sit with his children and reminded him that he needed to be a pillar of strength for them as they would see his worry and magnify it. So, he did as she requested and sat with his children. Cersei had her arms wrapped around his torso with her face pressed against his side. Jaime was holding his hand with Tyrion sitting in his brother’s lap, fidgeting nervously.

But now, all that worry seemed for not.

It was obvious that she was exhausted, but she looked so peaceful and content as she smiled up at him before turning her attention to the children. “Would you like to meet your little brother?” she asked softly. “He’s a little fussy, but I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

Tywin ushered the children forward and helped Tyrion onto the bed so his now second youngest could have a good view.

The babe in Celia’s arms had pale whisps of red hair and a sprinkle of freckles across his nose.

“He’s small,” Tyrion said.

“He’s all wrinkly,” Jaime in slight concern.

“He’s pretty!” Cersei squealed before covering her mouth, realizing how loud she was.

Celia looked up at Tywin and smiled at him proudly. The Lord of Casterly Rock cupped his hand behind his wife’s head and pressed a kiss to the top of it. “He’s perfect.”

_Take my hand_

_Take my whole life too_

_For I can't help falling in love with you_

_For I can't help falling in love with you_

“I feel so old,” Celia said, sitting beside him in the garden. “Watching them. Soon, Jaime will be married to Princess Elia and we are in talks with Cersei’s marriage prospects. It feels like only yesterday we were taking them to our bed to protect them from nightmares. And soon Tyrion will fall in love and get married and so will Arthur. It is as though the world has spun far too quickly and I have yet to catch up.”

Tywin took his wife’s hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “You are as young and beautiful as ever, my love.”

She smiled at him brightly and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. He smiled into it, staying in the warmth of his happiness. 

“Gross,”’Arthur’s voice came. 

Tywin laughed and kissed his wife quickly before standing and picking up his youngest son and hoisting him onto his shoulders. 

“Careful,” Celia called for him, standing as she did. “You are not as spry as you once were.”

“I am spry enough, Celia,” he said, laughing. “You should know better than the children.”

His wife’s cheeks turned as red as her hair. “Tywin Lannister!” she called, aghast. 

It was Arthur’s turn to laugh. “Father’s in trouble!” the boy shouted. 

Tywin looked to his wife and smiled at her. If he could go back and tell his past self that he would love his second wife, perhaps more than he had been able to love his first, the man he was would have scoffed. But it was true. He was in trouble the moment Celia Tully had walked into his life. For she made him a better man. She made him into a man that he could truly be proud of. Into a father he could truly be proud of. 

“Yes,” he said at last. “Yes I am.”


	7. Can’t be Denied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For igotmadskills
> 
> Excerpt from “What Was Promised” where Viserys was sold into slavery instead of being killed and falls in love with a sec slave named Celia.

It had been three years since he had been sold into slavery. It had been three years since his little sister had taken his sight and taken his freedom. 

He had once been called the begged king, but now he was a man with nothing, nothing but a woman who loved him and a child who viewed him as a father. Viserys had come to learn that this was enough. It was enough. 

His sister had made all the slaves free, and yet he could not help but feel that nothing had changed. They were still not paid and for people like Viserys, who were blind or who had any other disability, who could not work in the bean fields, were utterly useless. There was nothing for them to do, nothing for them to work towards. And Celia… There were still men who wished to have her. Men who had not been purged because they had bent the knee to Viserys’ sister, men who still viewed the girls that Viserys had grown to care for as family as nothing more than girls they could spill themselves in, girls they could do violence towards because the fighting pits were not as they had once been. 

None dared ask the Dragon Queen for help. She had allowed the rape of a woman to go unanswered. She had allowed for a woman to lose everything. No, none could fully trust her. She was like any other master that Viserys had come to know and he hated himself for possibly being one of the reasons Dany had become like this. 

“Papa,” Avari said and he felt her tugging on his trousers. 

Viserys bent down and picked her up, Pressing a kiss to her cloud-like hair. She giggled, feeling the scruff of his beard upon her skin. “Is there something you need, sweet girl?” 

“Mama is going to be home soon,” she replied. 

“Yes she is,” he assured her. “She went to the healer because she was not feeling well.”

“Is Mama sick?”

“No, sweetling. She is just not feeling well, but your mama is as healthy as the sun shining above.”

Avari giggled and wrapped her arms around Viserys’ neck. He took her to the small room that they all shared in the group housing that they and the other workers shared with their families. Occasionally Avari was taken in by the neighbors for an hour or so, so that he and his wife might have a moment to themselves. While it was occasionally to couple, it was usually to sleep. They did the same with the neighbor’s children. It was routine. They all clamored to it, especially with word that Dany would be leaving for Westeros soon. 

It was the thought that terrified Viserys the most. What would happen to them all should she leave? There was no one to pass on the title to. She had no heir. She had no one that Viserys could think of that would not lean into the old ways of the world. Perhaps if Ser Jorah Mormont were still with her, he might continue her ideals. But the man had once been a slaver, and an unrepentant one at that. 

Viserys worried for Celia, for Avari, for himself least of all. He worried that things would only become worse. He could not keep his family here if things were only to become worse than they already were. 

“I have returned!” Celia called out from the door. 

“Mama!” Avari called, happily tuning to her, the sound of her steps hard across the stone. 

Viserys stood and reached for his wife and he sighed as he felt her lips tenderly against his. “What did the healer say?”

“We shall talk about it once Avari goes to bed,” she said, her breath sweet across his face. 

His lips formed a thin line in worry but he leaned in and kissed her tenderly as Avari began to shout and tell Celia what she had done during the day. 

—

Viserys slept with his back to the door, with Celia’s back to his chest and Avari in front of her. It gave him some small amount of peace that they would be protected for at least a little bit longer if something or someone were to or them. 

“What did the healer say?”

“I’m with child,” Celia replied softly. 

The first thing Viserys felt was warmth. It was utter warmth and love. He was going to be a father. He loved Avari and thought of her as his own, but his biggest regret was that he had not been there for her first steps or word or any of the firsts that a father longs to be part of. For this baby he would he. He swore in his mother’s memory that he would be there for all of it. 

Then, he felt fear. He felt complete and utter fear. What could he possibly do to protect his family. Even when he had been the Beggar King, Viserys Targaryen, the last son of House Targaryen, he had been of little use. He had to rely on the charity of others. It had turned him into a bitter and horrible person. But now he was blind with three people to worry for outside of himself. 

“We can’t stay here,” Viserys whispered. “It isn’t safe for any of us. Soon the dragon queen will leave for Westeros and what then? Who does she have that will keep us from returning to things as they were. The masters will rise again. There is nothing to stop them, save the dragons.”

Celia’s fingers wove through his own and she brought the palm of his hand to her lips. “We can find a way,” she said gently. “There has to be a way. I could—“

“You are not selling yourself again,” Viserys said firmly. “I will not sit by and feel you waste away again. I don’t want any man to touch you but me. I don’t want any woman to touch me but you. I don’t want our children thinking this is the only life available to them.”

“Then what should we do?” Celia whispered. “What can we do for the children? To make sure they will have a better future than our own?”

Viserys buried his face into her shoulder and thought. He thought long and hard. “Tomorrow, when you go out for the daily rations, ask if the queen is offering any positions as a seamstress. She will need them to make herself blend in with Westerosi fashion and someone to mend her clothes. See if there are any household positions that might allow you to bring your family.”

“Viserys, what are you saying?”

“We need to get to Westeros. We need to go there. Even if it has been ravaged by war, even if they might not care for House Targaryen, it doesn’t matter. There are no slaves in Westeros. We would be free and I am not there for the throne. I would be content to live in a little room just like this one where we can work for our living and not worry about a master trying to take us from our bed, take our daughter from our bed.”

“Will we be safe?”

They would be safe. He was certain that if his sister discovered them that Celia, Avari, and their child would be safe. He was certain of it. For no other reason but she did not wish to be seen as a cruel person. Yes, his family would be safe, but he could not guarantee his own safety. He could not guarantee it. But he was certain that his family would be. 

“We will,” he lied. Viserys kissed her shoulder and held her tightly. “We will.”

—

Celia still dyed his hair a dark brown to make sure that he was less noticeable. He assumed, at least, that it was a dark brown, that’s what color she said it was. They were on the ship to Westeros, at the very bottom to be in a small room to themselves since they had a child and another on the way. Celia would bring down her needlework for the queen and they were content to stay mostly below deck where they were not noticeable. 

Viserys had no idea how many in Dany’s party might still remember or recognize him. It was better to stay out of sight. 

At night, he would tell Avari stories of Westeros, all the ones he could remember his mother telling him. He told her of dragons and wolves and lions and snakes. He told them until his daughter fell asleep in his arms and Celia was curled into his side, their growing child pressed between them. 

He prayed to the gods, old and new, that they would be safe. 


	8. Invisible String

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mauve-sparkle
> 
> Another except from “As High As Honor”

_ Green was the color of the grass _

_ Where I used to read at Centennial Park _

_ I used to think I would meet somebody there _

_ Teal was the color of your shirt  _

_ When you were sixteen at the yogurt shop _

_ You used to work at to make a little money _

Daeron stood awkwardly next to Ser Barristan Selmy. His father wanted him to foster in the Vale and form a relationship with Lord Baratheon and Lord Stark’s sons. He wanted more of a bond with them all, a bond that Rhaegar apparently couldn’t make as the crown prince. 

Lord Robert looked like an idiot, a good hearted idiot by how he was grinning, but he reminded Daeron of the knights who were good in their service and knew it. There was an arrogance there, but Daeron could only hope that they wouldn’t butt heads constantly. It would be annoying. Daeron wasn’t good at conflict. He wasn’t good at keeping his temper whenever he thought he was right. He hoped he didn’t ruin his chances at friendship at the first argument. 

Lord Eddard had a long face and a more thoughtful expression. He seemed to be as frigid as the North, but Daeron felt that he would be a better companion to him than Robert would, although the Baratheon would be a decent sparring one. Lord Eddard seemed to be the type of person who was better at books than the sword. Although, he did seem to have more muscle on him that he might actually be decent at the sword. Only time would tell but Daeron supposed that was why he was there. He would only be able to tell with time. 

Daeron’s eyes shifted and his mouth went dry. 

She was beautiful, blue eyes and blonde hair that curled around her cheeks, framing her face like a portrait. She was… She was beautiful. 

“This is my daughter, Lady Celia Arryn,” the Lord of the Eyrie said, putting his hand on her back. 

“Greetings, my prince,” she said, dipping into a curtsy. Her lips split into a wide smile and Daeron’s heart fluttered in his chest and he smiled back, bowing to her as though she were a princess. “It is a pleasure, my lady.”

He would always remember her this way. He would always remember the dress she wore, the Arryn blue and white. The way her hair was braided, the way her cheeks dimpled in her smile. Her innocence. Her kindness. The memory would remain lodged in his heart forever. 

_ Time, curious time _

_ Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs _

_ Were there clues I didn't see? _

_ And isn't it just so pretty to think _

_ All along there was some _

_ Invisible string _

_ Tying you to me? _

_ Ooh _

Celia giggled as Daeron glared down at the cyvasse pieces before them. She had her arm wrapped around his as Robert and Ned sat opposite them. Although it was hard, the four of them had learned to play the game separated into two teams.

It was usually down to Daeron and Ned, but occasionally she or Robert might give their game partner a good word of advice.

She enjoyed watching Daeron play most of all for how serious he got with it. She enjoyed the crease of his brow and the way his kissable lips formed a thin line.

“Celia, kiss him for a second,” Ned said. “I have a plan.”

“That’s not—" Celia cut Daeron off with a kiss and she felt him smile against her lips. He pulled back and Celia opened his eyes to find him smiling at her happily. “That’s cheating.”

“You do not seem to mind.” She smiled at him and gave him a peck on the lips again. 

“I mind,” Robert said. “You two are being disgusting.”

Celia giggled and stood up to give each of the boys a kiss on the cheek. “You two are just mad that you have no girls to cheer you on.”

Ned snorted but continued his game. “Your loss. She’s supposed to be on your team anyway.” He moved a piece and smirked. “I win.”

“You wound me,” Daeron said, setting her hand over his heart. “The ultimate betrayal.” 

She giggled and leaned into him. “Shall I kiss your wounded pride and make it better?”

“You two are disgusting,” Robert said, rolling his eyes. To that, Ned snorted. 

_ Bad was the blood of the song in the cab  _

_ On your first trip to LA _

_ You ate at my favorite spot for dinner _

_ Bold was the waitress on our three year trip  _

_ Getting lunch down by the lakes _

_ She said I looked like an American singer _

Daeron twirled Celia in his arms as they danced across the floor, circling about the other dancers. It felt like a dream, the way she was all his. 

She was wearing red, Targaryen red, and her hair was braided into a style reminiscent of Visenya Targaryen, ready for a battle of wits and tongues that so many men readied for her father’s heiress. She was beguiling and he could not help the way his body reacted to her. He could see the way she smiled at him, leaned into his body and he knew that she could feel every inch of him longing for her. 

“I will take you to the Red Keep one day,” he whispered softly to her. “I will take you to meet my mother. I shall take you to Dragonstone and show you the ruins of Summerhall.”

Celia smiled at him and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “I cannot wait,” she said. “But I want you now. Is that wrong?”

“No,” he whispered. “I do not wish to wait either.”

“Then come to my room tonight when the moon is high.”

“I will come,” he said. “I swear it.”

_ Time, mystical time _

_ Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine _

_ Were there clues I didn't see? _

_ And isn't it just so pretty to think _

_ All along there was some _

_ Invisible string _

_ Tying you to me? _

_ Ooh _

She rested against his chest, her body pressed flush against his as he traced circles in her back and she tapped her fingers against his collarbone. The coolness of the air was fresh against their skin and she felt content. She felt completely and utterly content 

How could she not? She was with the man she had lived since she was a child. One day soon they would get married and they would have a life together where they would worry for nothing because they had each other. 

“What would we name our children,” she wondered aloud.

“Has your mind wandered to such things?”

“What of Jaehaeys if it is a boy?” she suggested, ignoring his question.

Daeron chuckled, twirling some of her hair with his finger. “I would want girls,” he admitted. “A handful of them.”

“Really?”

“Mm,” he hummed. “A handful of girls for me to dote on. I don’t need any sons.”

Celia smiled at him, sliding her hands up his chest so that she had her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled herself up. The friction already caused her belly to burn with want.

Daeron kissed her tenderly, his lips firm and welcoming and warm. She smiled into the kiss and wrapped herself around him. Daeron grinned and turned them onto her back and she laughed as he began to pepper her body with kisses. 

_ A string that pulled me _

_ Out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar _

_ Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire _

_ Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons _

_ One single thread of gold tied me to you _

“It is our destiny, Daeron,” Rhaegar said, taking his brother by the arm. “It is mine and yours and all of us. There is a danger that is coming and we are the ones to fight the coming storm. Can you not see it?”

Daeron ripped his arm from his brother’s grasp. “What I see is madness,” he snarled. “You have broken all faith with our lords and the men I call my brothers. How dare you hide behind the false pretense of fate while destroying our family in the process. I will have no part of this.”

“If you help, I shall allow you to see your child. It is a girl, is it not?”

In a fit of anger, Daeron pushed his brother to the ground. “Fuck you,” he spat. “Don’t you dare use my daughter against me when you care not for the safety of your own children.”

“Daeron—"

“I will have no part in this. I will not!”

“I am doing what is best for my family!”

“No you are doing what you will as a crown prince to wet his cock! You are married! You have two beautiful children in the course of almost two years of your marriage. You have an heir and a daughter who might help you make alliances with other kingdoms and you have thrown it all away for a girl already betrothed to our cousin. I will not stand by and watch as you tear our family apart! I will not stand by and watch as you turn Elia into our mother! I will not stand by as you rip apart the very fabric of Westeros, everything our family has hilt. I will not do it!”

_ Cold was the steel of my axe to grind  _

_ For the boys who broke my heart _

_ Now I send their babies presents _

_ Gold was the color of the leaves  _

_ When I showed you around Centennial Park _

_ Hell was the journey but it brought me heaven _

“I’m sorry, Celia,” Ned said. 

Celia looked down at her little daughter in her arms. Her sweet babe. She looked Targaryen, but just enough of an Arryn to not rouse too much suspicion to those who would not know the truth. 

“Is he alright?” she asked helplessly. “Will he come back?”

“Robert is doing all that he can, but we cannot risk you or Alys. We cannot risk whatever it was that Rhaegar thought we were in danger of.”

“But is he safe?”

“As far as we know,” Ned said gently, putting his hand on her back. “I’m sorry, Celia. There’s nothing else we can do. The Targaryens… this is the only way to protect your daughter.”

“I know Ned,” she said softly. “I know.” She kissed the top of Alys’ head. “Are Princess Elia and the children safe?”

“Yes. That we know for certain. She could not say much but it appears that Daeron is searching for what it was that caused Rhaegar to lose his senses. What great peril caused him to do something so foolish.”

“When will it be safe for them.”

“I don’t know, Celia,” Ned said gently. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know.”

_ Time, wondrous time _

_ Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies _

_ And it's cool, baby, with me _

_ And isn't it just so pretty to think _

_ All along there was some _

_ Invisible string _

_ Tying you to me? _

_ Ooh _

_ Hee _

_ Ooh _

“My father already has an heir, Ser,” Alys’ mother said with a sigh. “I have no need for a husband or more children. Tend your weary heart on some other girl who might find such words appealing.”

Alys did not understand why so many of the lords and knights seemed to wish for her mother’s favor. It was obvious to Alys, and she was only six, that her mother had no interest in any of them beyond being a lady to her people.

Uncle Robert said that her father was far away doing something very important. He said that her father missed her and her mother very much, but there was something that needed to be tended to and he would come for her soon.

Alys glared at all the men who drew near her mother and would pitch a fit at any who tried to gain her mother’s affection by paying mind to her. Alys’ mother belonged with Alys’ father. There was no way around it and she refused to let a Valeman get between them.

Sometimes at night she would look to the stars, to the constellations of all the kings of the past, of the dragons and warriors that littered the sky and pray that her father would come home soon so that he could make her mother happy. 

Sometimes, Alys felt that the stars winked at her, letting her know they heard her. 


	9. Remember Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mauve-sparkle
> 
> An excerpt from “Blood, Battle, and Bravery” where Daeron Targaryen lives and wanted to marry Celia Tully, daughter of the Blackfish, but war and duty kept them apart.

She had lived her life without regret. Without the regret of giving herself to him completely. She had given him her heart and her soul, but not her body. In that, she had not been so free to give. 

It was better that way. It meant that she could not long for his touch or his fire. She had not come to expect the heat of him against her skin as a lover or a wife does. In that she was free and yet she could not help but think of the moments before the rebellion where she had almost given him everything, almost lost herself so completely into him. 

It had been a cool spring day in the Riverlands. They sat under the trees and the leaves sparkled with dew and the air burned their lungs with its coolness. They were leaning into one another, curled into one another for warmth and companionship as he rested from his training with her father. 

She could still remember the slight smell of him, of sweat and clay earth that had dried on his skin from when he had fallen to the ground. It was so completely and utterly him. It was him and Celia basked in it. Even to this day the smell of dried clay brought her back to that moment. That moment where she had almost given him everything. 

Celia smiled up at him as his arm curled around her waist. He smiled down at her, his lavender eyes sparkling in the light, like amethysts almost. It made her heart flutter, the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel like she was the only other person in the entire world. It was just the two of them and no one else. 

Daeron lowered his head ever so slightly and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was completely innocent. They had kissed many times before. It wasn’t as though they had never been so intimately acquainted in that way. But something about the kiss soon became different. 

Daeron cupped her cheek and pulled her closer to him, his lips parting ever so slightly and his tongue sliding against the seam of her lips. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she wanted more. Celia opened her mouth to him and his tongue began to explore it. She had no words to describe it, to describe what it did to her insides. It was as though a thousand butterflies were captured in her stomach and she wanted them free, for him to see all the things he was doing to her. 

Celia sank her fingers into his hair and began to murmur into his lips as she hesitantly began to explore his own mouth. 

Daeron pulled her closer until she was basically on top of him and the only way she could be comfortable was when she straddled her legs around his hips and felt something hard press into the center of her body. She gasped as his hips bucked up into her own and Daeron groaned. It was such a long, guttural sound and something inside Celia wanted to hear it again and she rubbed herself against him. 

It became ravenous, the way they wanted more, the way they wanted to sink into the other and simply be. 

Celia didn’t know how long they were like that. It felt like forever and yet like no time at all. 

“We need to stop,” Daeron grunted into her skin as he pulled his lips from her own and placed them against her neck. “We shouldn’t go any further.”

Part of her wanted to scream, wanted to demand that they keep going, that he not leave her with a feeling so incomplete. But she understood him. She understood where they were heading, what line it felt like they were so desperately close to crossing. 

Daeron kissed her again, long and deep. He pulled away and pressed his forehead against her own. “If I am to have you like this,” he said. “I want it to be in our marriage bed. I want it to be in our marriage bed. I want it to be after swearing my life to you. I want it to be after dancing the night away with you as our fathers look on. I want it to be after I proclaim to the entire world that you are mine and I am yours.”

Celia blushed at his proclamation. “And how soon could that be?” she asked softly. 

“As soon as I am allowed,” he replied. “As soon as I am given your father’s permission and as soon as I can get my father’s approval.”

She smiled at him. “And how long will that be.”

He smiled back to her. “Within the year.”

She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Within the year then.”

Only it would not be Daeron who waited for her down that sacred aisle. It would not be him. It would never be him. 


End file.
